Every Night, I Saved Him
by Princess Pajamas
Summary: Eponine the... Vampire Slayer?  Call me crazy, but I think it works.  Summary may turn into a series if reviews are favorable.


**Every Night, I Saved Him**

I walked alone, late at night. The people of Paris were asleep. The _people_ of Paris were asleep. But there were other things, things that were awake. Oh, yes, they were awake. And they thought they were hunting me, perhaps, but really, I was hunting them.

Why did I do it? Might as well have asked a bird why it flies. Might as well have asked a wasp why it stings. It's what I was born to do. It pleased me, to have a purpose. I hadn't always. Had one, that is. I used to walk by myself at night then, too, but only to be out and free. It was dangerous, of course -- I didn't know _how_ dangerous, not then, but dangerous, yes -- but it was better than the hovel, better than the smell, and the shouting, and 'Parnasse _looking_ at me all the time. Out there, I was nobody's but my own, and that pleased me. And it was out there that I found out what I was meant for.

I met him in an alley. At first, I thought the old man daft, thought him perhaps a drunkard, a mean drunkard trying to amuse himself by scaring a girl with children's tales. I thought to myself that he had picked the wrong girl to try and scare. I was hard. It had been a long time since I had believed in children's tales. I had seen what monsters the world had to offer, and if all they had were fangs, well then, those were the gentle ones. I started to tell him so, but something in his face (I know not what) gave me pause, made me listen.

He told me I was special. That's when I thought him looking for a bint to take home, and I turned to leave, but he rooted me to the spot with a single sentence: "You have work to do, Eponine."

"Eponine!" That shocked me, and so I turned to face him. "How do y'know my name's Eponine?"

He told me that he had been sent to find me, to show me what I must do and how it must be done, and to warn me that while changes were coming, I mustn't share them with anybody. And that pleased me. Changes! Changes that would be my knowledge, and no one else's. Something that would be mine in a world where nothing had ever been. Something to be that mattered. Something to be, other than miserable.

So I followed him, and he showed me. He showed me that the children's tales were true. He showed me how to be quick, how to hunt, where to strike and with what to do it. And one night, when I was too slow, he showed me how to feel grief, long after I had thought all grief behind me.

Then I was on my own again, and less pleased about it now. I kept about my purpose, because there was no one else. There was but one girl in all the world who could do what must be done, and the duty would be mine alone until I was dead. He had told me that, before he was gone. Why it should be that way, I didn't know, but that was the way it was, so I did my duty. I learned new ways to handle the task. I showed myself, because there was no one else. I've had some tough scrapes, but so far, _so far_, I've always come out on top.

I knew that one day it wouldn't be so. He told me that as well, that girls called to this duty don't last very long. It's fine with me. I've never expected to last very long, not even before all this. It would have been fine, if not for one thing.

_Him_.

At first he was just the neighbor boy, a student playing at the wretched life the rest of us had come by honestly. Then one day, Papa sent me to his room to beg for money. It was a humiliation, and it became even more of one once I was about the task. For he was very handsome, and while I had once been pretty, I knew that my ragged clothes and filthy skin were all he would see.

He pitied me. I could feel his pity, it crawled on my skin like Montparnasse's eyes, and so I tried to show him that he should not pity me. I hid my shame behind boldness. I walked about his flat as if I belonged there. I showed him that I could write. I asked him his name, and I laughed at him when he called himself a baron. He gave me five francs and more pity, and I left with his face tattooed on my brain and his name emblazoned on my heart. _Marius_.

I thought myself stupid. Worse, I talked about him to 'Zelma and Papa, and they thought me stupid, too. But I was helpless. I already knew I had a purpose, but this felt like a purpose, too. It was worrisome; it made my head spin, because at one moment this new purpose delighted me, and at the next it made me feel as if my heart would break. It was always this way, always between one or the other, never one feeling for very long. It made me dizzy.

I began to follow him. He went out most nights, and I knew the dangers that walked the streets at night. It felt better, safer, to follow him, to know he was all right, to know I would be there to protect him from the dangers he could not even begin to guess at. I came to know his hours and his habits, when he would leave the house to meet his friends at the café, and when he would leave the café to return home. I did my duty, I hunted, but I always made sure to be there when it would be time for him to travel from one place to another after dark.

After a time, I began to feel as if I knew him, and that made me bolder. I began to seek him out in the daylight. I'd walk until I found him, and I'd watch him read his book or eat his lunch in the park. Though I never tried to hide myself from him, he never noticed me. Maybe if I'd approached him, but that would be silly. Pity was not reason enough for a man like him to be seen with a girl like me.

And still, I followed him at night. That's how I came to save him, not once, not twice, but many times. Every night. Every night, I saved him. For every time I did my duty, I knew that there would be one less of _them_ to protect him from. One less of their kind to menace him, to perhaps pull him into an alley on his way home and make him sleep forever. It pleased me so, to have one purpose serve the other like that! And I thought how it would have pleased him, too, if he had known; it would have pleased him to know his friend 'Ponine was watching out for him, that he was safe because of her.

In the daylight, I knew this was foolishness, that we were not friends, but at night it was easier to believe. Easier to imagine him walking with me, being impressed by my cunning and skill when we came upon one of _them_. Being my friend. Loving me.

And then, one day, the unthinkable. He sought _me_ out! Oh, how glad it made me! I didn't even care that what he wanted was _her_ address. He knew I would be able to find it, because he knew I had brought her and her father to our flat one day. I had seen him watching her, of course; I'd seen it while I watched him in the park. I hadn't known that the gentleman who promised me food for our family that day was her father, I hadn't known it until she'd showed up with him in her pretty bourgeois dress. I had hated her then, but I loved her now, because she was the reason my Marius was speaking to me.

Then the police hooked us and I spent two months in the jug. The nights there were a horror -- who would be watching my Marius? Who would be protecting him, making sure he arrived home from the café with his neck intact? No one. The thought filled me with terror. I was wild to get out, to be about my duty again. Every night, I imagined the work I had done being rolled back bit by bit. Their numbers would swell, and how could I save him in here?

Finally, freedom. I flew back to the Gorbeau building, but he had gone. Of course. A row like the one that happened the night we got hooked would be disagreeable to him. So, at night, I went about my purpose -- or one of them, anyway -- pushing my bits of wood into their hearts and watching _them_ explode into dust. And for the first time it felt… hollow? Is that the word I mean? It seemed to matter less, without my Marius to follow. Worse still, I started to fear that one night I'd face one of _them_ and it would wear his face. If that happened, I thought I should be less quick than I could be, because having failed at one purpose, it would seem only right that I should fail at the other as well.

I began to get careless. Once, I came within an ace of being stabbed with my own stick; another time, I felt teeth on my neck before I managed to get the upper hand. Most nights, though, things were not so dramatic. Most nights, it was just the little cuts and bruises that came with the job. It did not matter, any of it. I healed quick. If I glanced my knee on the pavement when I went for the killing blow, even if I almost broke it, it would be fine the next day. And of course, if it wasn't, well, that was fine, too.

Still, I looked for him during the day. Six long weeks passed, and I began to lose hope. But then, one day, success! I saw him near the river, alive and well and handsome as ever. At first he did not seem glad to see me, but I had his young lady's address, and that made him glad. And he was so kind to me! He called me by my name, and I hadn't even known he knew it! He didn't even think to avoid looking like he was with me; I had to remind him not to follow so close. It was almost like we were together.

And so it was that I was whole again. I waited outside the gates when he went to visit his young lady at night. It hurt me some, to see him with her, to hear him speak to her in soft tones that he would never use with me. But I had my purpose, both of my purposes, and I told myself that it was enough. I could save him again, and so that's what I did. Every night, I saved him. And if I was saving her, too? Well, what of it?

Things started to change quickly then. It started when Papa's gang tried to rob the young lady's house. My Marius had made me swear not to give them the address, and I had kept my promise, but here they were, just the same. I was waiting at the gate, waiting to save him, and that's how I came to be there when they showed up. I could have overpowered them easily -- all of them, even put together, were nothing compared to even one of _them_ -- but then they might have guessed at my purpose, or at the very least thought it very odd that a girl should have such strength. I screamed instead, chased them away that way. I thought it another way to save him, and I suppose it was, but it spooked the girl's father, and so they decided to move. My Marius thought himself lost without her, so in a way I suppose I saved him and damned him at the same time.

If I'm to be honest, I can't say that having him damned, just a little, didn't make me glad. After all, all I'd done was save him. Every night, I saved him. But I'd been damned for most of my life, and even more so since I'd met him. Having him damned, just a little, it made us equals, in a way. It pleased me to be his equal, even if it wasn't really so.

In the end, though, I couldn't stand how gloomy being without her made him. I found her again, and she gave me a note to take to him. She didn't know me; I was dressed as a boy, because the fighting had begun on the barricades. I had already sent him there, and I planned to follow soon. Now at least I would have something to make him glad while we waited to die.

I made my way to the barricades. It was daylight, so I could go fast; I didn't have to worry about looking for _them_. And then, when I got there, I saw him. I saw my Marius, and I saw the musket aimed at him.

So I did my duty; I saved him. For the last time, I saved him. I put my hand on the musket, and thinking that not enough protection, I put my body between my hand and him.

Oh, how it hurt! Worse than anything I'd ever felt while fighting _them_. And the pain went on for hours. My Marius had seen my hand on the musket, but not to whom the hand belonged. I began to fear that he would never know. How cruel it seemed! To save him again and again, and to never have him know it.

And then, that night, a miracle. He came to inspect the alley I lay in, and I was able to make him see me. He was kind to me. He worried about me. Even though he still pitied me, it seemed the pity was softer, colored by other things. I gave him the letter from his young lady, and I made him promise to kiss me when I was dead. Then, I tried to tell him. How I had saved him. How every night, I saved him. But what I said instead was, "And then, do you know, Monsieur Marius, I believe I was a little in love with you."

He looked down at me, and I felt myself going. It was all right. Because he had finally returned the favor.

Tonight, he had saved me.


End file.
